Chapter Text
Captain John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers M.D., freshly invalided from the army, seemingly haunted by the war. Being thousands of miles away, and yet the conflict followed close in his mind at all times. He hadn’t been back in England long- just a few, short months.
His therapist, Ella, encouraged him to start a blog and write about his daily life since returning from Afghanistan, but nothing ever happened to him.
The blog stayed empty, for now.
As… lonesome as John had been since his return, he still needed to exercise and get some sun, take care of himself for what little it was worth, he was a doctor, a soldier for god’s sake. A little walk through the park wouldn’t kill him, in fact it could be nice.
“John!” A voice called from behind him,”John Watson!”
‘Who the hell-’ he thought, turning to face the man.
“Stamford, Mike Stamford; we were at Bart’s together-”
“Yes- sorry- yes, Mike hello.. hi,”as he shook the man’s hand the only thing that crossed his mind was ‘why me, why today’.
“I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at- what happened?”
‘What the fu-’ he put on a calm face,”Got shot.” John’s eyes darted ‘is he serious? God help me’.
After that little misfire of a conversation, Mike offered to buy coffee for the two of them. Who can decline a good cup of crap coffee? They chatted a bit about current life, how he was teaching at Bart's now and that John was currently staying in London on a pension, but probably not for much longer considering how expensive it was to live in the city. Damn his tremor, it always came up in the worst of times. Mike asked about Harry helping with his housing situation, which was somewhat unusual considering that the two hadn’t spoken in years and he somehow recalled his sister. Of course asking Harry for help would be like asking a brick wall to dance-
“I don’t know, get a flatshare or something-”
“C’mon, who would want me as a flatmate?” It’s not like anyone would enjoy the company of an army invalid with a short fuse and ‘psychosomatic’ limp (or so Ella had told him). Mike laughed, laughed at John’s comment,”What-?”
“You’re the second person to say that to me today.”
“Who was the first?”
The moment they arrived at St.Barts, John began to form theories about this mystery flatmate: was this a student of Mikes? Could it be a colleague? As they got to the mortuary/lab area, the differences in the halls became clear, they had been renovated since he was last there, the floors were new and they were now a light-grey compared to the sterile white it had been in the past. Mike opened the door for his old friend after knocking on it a couple times.
“A bit different from my…” He caught sight of the man who was currently seated at the lab station, carefully dripping a pipette into a multi-welled plate,”-day… Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes is that you?”
Nearly dropping his plate of samples, the curly-headed man startled,”John Watson?” It, in fact, was Sherlock Holmes. They knew each other from school, secondary to be precise, John had moved from Edinburgh to the outer-skirts of London just months before school picked back up. The taller man smiled, giving the blond a once-over,”Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”
‘Bloody git’ John’s eyes lit up at his old friend’s deduction skills,”Afghanistan, you still do that after all these years?”
“I do believe I’ve made a rather well off-profession out of it too,”he turned to the teacher who stood at the doorway, positively chuffed that he could reunite these two,”I think we’ll get along splendidly as flatmates Mike, thank you.”
“Anytime,”He took his leave.
“It has been years since I’ve seen you Sherlock, how have you been?” John enveloped the lanky man in a hug, which he kindly took and returned.
“Oh, graduated University, took up some jobs here and there, I work with the police when they’re out of their depth,”he nodded his head side-to-side as he listed his accomplishments off,”How about you?”
“You just asked me ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’ and you want me to tell you what I’ve been doing?”
“Formalities.”
“Uh-huh,”he and Sherlock shared another smile,”Well, I won’t insult your intelligence by asking you to deduce me, how about something I don’t know-” he dropped his voice a bit and caught the other's gaze, a blush slowly creeping up Sherlock’s neck,”The flat?”
“Oh-uh- ya,”He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact,”The address is… uh- Baker Street! 221b- I-er-I have a few things to finish up here, you know, case stuff- I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Alright,”His smile kind, warm,”Baker Street? That’s central London, must be pretty pricey.”
“The-the landlady is giving me-us a bit of a discount,”Sherlock suddenly found his mind to be at a complete loss of logic, seeming to be utterly entranced by his friend from years ago,”Tomorrow... noon?”
“Not like I have anything better to do, I’ll see you then Sher-”
A mousy woman entered the room,”Sherlock, here’s your coffee.”
“I- erm thank you Molly,”He took the cup she offered,”Molly, this is John we were friends in school- what happened to the lipstick?”
“It wasn’t working for me,”she turned to the newcomer,”It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Sherlock’s.”
“Likewise-”
Sherlock hummed,”The lipstick suited you, your mouth’s too… small now.”
After a tick of awkward silence, John cleared his throat,”Well, I’ll be off now, wouldn’t want to keep you from your investigation, er- could I have your number-?”
“Yes! I- yes, here lend me your mobile,”he put his number into John’s phone,”Gift from Harry?”
“You’re brilliant Sherlock, I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”
He turned to leave the room, Molly and Sherlock tracking him with their eyes until he was completely out, the latter of the two letting out a sigh, or rather a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.
“He’s cute-”
“Molly, do keep your thoughts to yourself unless you want to end up like the body in the viewing room.”
“Did you two date-”
“Out-” He pointed to the door, absolutely mortified by the conversation,”I have plenty of chemicals at my disposal and I suggest you leave quickly.”
“You two seem like a cute couple-”
“Out!”
While it was true that Sherlock had work left to do for his most recent private client, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the tedious analysis required. He was truly too excited, or more excited than he had been since the triple homicide three months ago, and all it took was for John Watson to hobble back into his life.
‘You have a blog now? -SH’
‘It’s quite empty- SH’
Now, on his way back to the flat he’s been inhabiting for about six months, Sherlock couldn’t get his mind off of John Watson. What was it about the small, compact man that appealed to him so much?
‘And you have a website’
‘Look at us googling each other <3’
‘Ah, that’s what it was. The Watson Charm- SH’
‘That’s what… what was?’
‘Somehow you're always just a step behind me- SH’
‘Clever enough for you?’
‘Depends- SH’
‘Depends on what?’
‘There’s a separate room upstairs at 221b, will you be taking it?- SH’
…
…
Sherlock smirked at the lack of response. But promptly losing the face of victory when his phone buzzed:
‘Temporarily, I like to go out for dinner before sleeping over ;)’
At that moment, William Sherlock Scott Holmes decided that John Hamish Watson was going to be the death of him.